


Whole

by photh



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types
Genre: Biting, Blow Jobs, Cannibalism, Graphic Violence, M/M, Scarification, but in a loving kind of way, even though i dont need to, im gonna tag it, organ-stealing, other sex things, some non-con, watch out
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-15
Updated: 2014-04-18
Packaged: 2018-01-19 11:11:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1467370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/photh/pseuds/photh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will wakes up in the hospital minus a kidney. Hannibal is there to help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_Your hands are cold as ice upon my face, and I can feel my blood drain out from beneath them._

_I am a fevered sweetness, thick and heady and full. Your palm migrates to my sternum, grounding me, pulling me forward. My own fear sharpens me to a point, centered in the pit of my stomach. It’s the feeling of my torrid skin upon your wintry solidity that prevents me from breaking._

_I can feel myself slipping, despite your best efforts— or maybe because of them—_

Will’s world becomes technicolor with a click of his eyelids and a pump of his throat. He takes a moment to feel his own even breath across his dry lips and takes stock of the powder blue bedsheets and fluorescent lights. He feels sore— his stomach throbs gently and his skin is tight. His eyes slide shut into black oblivion and he takes a deep breath. Trying to remember the dream is like grasping at smoke. Ever present and yet intangible.

He hears a noise off to his side, but his ears are numb to its tone. It becomes clearer as he blinks, manifesting into—

“Will?”

Will grunts and opens his eyes again, turning his head to meet Alana’s concerned gaze. She’s sitting by the side of his bed, her hand resting beside his. They look at each other for a moment, she searching his face for signs of discomfort, he trying to keep his eyes open.

“How do you feel?”

Will thinks about it. “Like—” he starts, but his throat is too dry. He clears it and tries again. “Like I’ve been hollowed out,” he responds with a rasp.  “Where am I? What day is it?”

“Baltimore Memorial Hospital.” She looks away from him, biting her lip. “You’ve been unconscious for three days. Do you remember anything that happened, Will?”

“No,” he says, a note of fear creeping into his tone. “What happened? Is everyone okay? What did I do?”

Alana blinks at him, brows knit, mouth tight. “You didn’t do anything, Will, nothing like that.”

He looks at her desperately, searching her face. “Tell me.”

“They found you on your front porch. Your neighbors called the police when they saw you, and the EMTs brought you into the hospital. You were unconscious and losing blood. We weren’t sure you would make it.”

His eyes burn into hers.

“You had a huge wound in your stomach, and when you went in for emergency surgery...”  she leans forward, clasping her hands together.

She looks pretty like this, Will thinks— with her hair loose and her eyes tired. “Tell me,” he pleads again.

Alana heaves a sigh. “One of your kidneys is missing, Will.”

Will blinks. Next to Alana, there is a huge, feathered stag, raven-black and sharp. His hands begin to shake.

He speaks weakly. “Missing? My kidney is missing?”

She purses her lips. “It looks like it was surgically removed— the interior cut was very precise. But your stomach wound was extremely crude. We think--” she swallows, as if there is a bad taste in her mouth “-- we think it was made, at least partially, with teeth. Human teeth.”

Will takes a moment to catalogue what he is hearing. His ears are ringing. “So somebody ate my stomach open and stole my kidney? And I don’t remember anything?” He stops, grimacing. “Can I even live without one of my kidneys?”

“You’ll have to be careful of your blood pressure. You are to stay in the hospital for at least another week, just to keep an eye on you.”

Will’s eyes slide shut calmly but his eyeballs flick back and forth beneath their paperthin lids. He sees blue— deep, royal blue, like velvet curtains. Red fingers, white teeth. A soft whimper. The feathered stag, impaled with countless obsidian arrows. A white-hot bloom of pain twined with the heady feeling of pleasure.

He groans.

“Will,” Alana says worriedly, “You need some rest.”

Will comes back to himself, blinking rapidly. “Sorry,” he says, looking at her from half-closed lashes. He opens his mouth to make some excuse about the pain.

Just then the door opens, and Jack fills the threshold like a thundercloud. “I hear you’re back to the world of the living, Graham,” he says, striding in. He gives a curt smile. “What happened, Will?”

Will rubs his eyes with his palm. “I don’t remember.”

Jack’s mouth pulls tight. “I’ve been talking to your doctors. They say memory loss is common with such violent trauma, and that you may regain the repressed memories.”

“Or not,” Alana says sharply. She shifts positions in her chair so she sits up straighter, and crosses her legs. “More often than not, trauma victims never recover those memories.”

“Regardless of his memories, we need to find who did this to him.”

“I’m right here,” Will says with a hint of cheek in his tone. “Stop talking about me like I’m not.”

Jack looks at him briefly, seemingly without registering what he has just said. He ducks his head out of the hospital room for a moment, and comes back with Beverly Katz in tow.

“Will,” she says.

“Hi Bev.”

“How are you feeling?”

“Like someone stole my kidney.” He smiles awkwardly.

“That’s to be expected.”

“What can you tell me about whoever did this?” Jack says.

Beverly puts one hand in her back pocket, addressing Will directly. “Not much. Whoever he is, he’s careful. We barely found anything— the only useful thing from the stomach wound would be the dental impressions. There wasn’t any useable DNA evidence, that’s for sure— the blood loss was so great that any saliva in that area would have disintegrated.” She pulled some photographs out of her denim jacket. “The injuries weren’t localized, though. It looks like he didn’t just go after your stomach.” she stops uncertainly, looking at Jack.

Jack’s brows furrow in concern. “What else is there?” he asks, voice soft.

Beverly looks at Will, a depth in her eyes that wasn’t there before. “Are you sure you want to hear this?”

Will nods once, too quickly.

Her shoulders heave. “There were other wounds, made with what looks like a razorblade.” She tosses a few photos on the bed. “Here, beneath the ribs, tucked next to the collarbones, and all over the hip and groin area. There...” she shifts uncomfortably. “There were also some bite marks scattered across the throat, shoulders, buttocks, and inner thighs, and scratches up the length of the back consistent with fingernails.” Bev meets Will’s eyes. Hers possess a strange brightness he recognizes as anger. “It’s mostly consistent with some sort of sexual encounter, rather than just violent assault.” She clears her throat and looks away from Will. “The hospital used a rape kit. We found some traces of saliva, but none of it was useable.”

The room is still for a good thirty seconds before Jack says, “Jesus.”

Will doesn’t know what to say. From the look on her face, Alana doesn’t either.

Finally, he speaks. His voice cracks, tongue too big for his mouth. He feels like he’s going to pass out again. “So was I raped?”

“It’s unclear right now— you were missing some of the wounds that occur in a struggle of that type. In fact, you were pretty much devoid of defensive wounds.”

Will shivers, and Alana stands to pull the blanket around his shoulders. He gives a nod in thanks. Suddenly he feels his skin prickling.

“There’s one more thing.”

Katz throws the final photo on the bed. It’s a shot of the base of Will’s back, the area just to the left of the bottom of the spine. A large gauze pad is being held away from the skin where, carved into the flesh, was a symbol Will didn’t recognize.

“What is this?” he asks, barely audible, tracing his finger over the angry red in the photo.

“After some research, I found out.” Katz pulls a piece of folded paper out of her pocket, handing it to Will. A simplified version of the symbol is depicted underneath the words, _Owo Kum Nyame_.

“It originates from the Ashanti of Ghana. It symbolizes the power of God to overcome death.” She searches his face for a moment.

“Why would that be carved into your skin?” Jack demands.

Alana, after standing silently for so long, shoots Jack a sharp look. “Why do you think Will would know any better than we do? For all we know, he was completely unconscious when he was assaulted. He could have even been drugged. The lack of defensive wounds supports that.”

“No, no,” Jack waves a hand. “Toxicology reports came back completely negative.”

“There wasn’t any sign of blunt force trauma to the head,” Bev supplies. “The current theory is that he passed out due to blood loss after the assault.”

“That means he must have those memories in there somewhere. Doctor Bloom, I understand hypnotherapy can sometimes be used to recover memories—”

“Jack, if you think I’m going to let you use hypnotherapy to recover Will’s memories of such a traumatic assault—” her voice gets quieter “ —of what could be rape— you have to reassess your moral values. It’s simply unethical.”

Jack glances at Will, who is turned on his side, staring at the wall. “Will?”

Crawford nods at Beverly, who takes it as her cue to go. She pauses at the door.

“I’m sorry, Will,” she says, voice somber.

“Thank you, Bev.”

Alana and Jack keep talking to him, but he doesn’t hear very much. If he tried to remember the conversation at all, it would be in pieces that didn’t fit together— “Doctor Lecter” and “bedrest” and “Ripper” and “stability”.

After a while, they leave, and he’s alone with his dreams.

 


	2. Chapter 2

_My hair is a dark halo on your mahogany dining table. The air is cold on my skin— I am naked, surrounded by an elaborate display of gory viscera and complex desserts. There is chocolate sauce and blood in my mouth. You stand over me, fully dressed, observing with your dark eyes. Hot hands slide up my thighs, seeking warmth. They find none._

_With a quiet sound, I hear your fingers find their way into my hot core. My back arches into the touch, head filling with noise. I am contorted across your table, breath ragged, eyes squeezed shut._

_You bend to taste. One swipe of tongue up my belly and I am lost to you. And when you drive the knife into my stomach, I shatter like broken glass._

 

Will wakes to the sound of Winston barking at the door. He blinks, blearily grasping at the dream that left a hollow feeling in his chest as he stands. He winces at the pain in his stomach and reaches for the bottle of pills next to his bed. His small house sighs as he opens the door to the friendly smile of Doctor Lecter.

“Good morning, Will. I hope I didn’t wake you.”

“I wasn’t sleeping well anyway. I’m glad to see you.”

Hannibal steps past him and into the living room. “I brought you something.” He hands Will a paper bag.

Inside, there’s what must be a very, very expensive bottle of scotch whiskey.

“Hannibal,” Will says with a sardonic smile. “It’s before ten in the morning.”

Lecter returns the smile in his quieter, smaller way. “A little hedonism goes a long way, William, don’t you think?”

“If you say so, Doctor Lecter.” Will reaches for two glasses from the cabinet above the sink. He places them on the coffee table and Hannibal pours them drinks as Will ushers the dogs into the yard.

He and Hannibal sit across from each other in chairs that are configured remarkably like those in Hannibal’s office. “I suppose I should thank you.”

“No need,” Lecter replies, taking a delicate sip of his drink. “I should thank you for humoring my unhealthy habit of morning liquor.”

“I’m surprised. I would have thought you someone who would scorn such a thing.”

“I’m full of surprises, dear Will.”

Will sips his whiskey in silence, letting it tingle on his lips before burning down his throat. It feels very good.

“So what is this really about? I’m sure you didn’t drive fifty miles to share a drink with me.”

Hannibal licks his lips. “I would drive farther than that to share a drink with you, Will. But you’re correct. Today, I have an ulterior motive.”

Will tilts his head.

“I wanted to ask you if you had recovered any memories from your trauma. You’ve been home for two months, and it is not uncommon for traumatic memories to return around that time.”

Will scoffs unkindly. “Believe me, if I had recovered any memories, Jack would sniff them out.”

“Then do you have any idea who may have attacked you, or why?”

Sighing, Will bites his upper lip with his lower teeth. “I know it wasn’t random.”

Hannibal is silent, waiting for him to continue.

Will decides to take a gamble and say what he’s been thinking from the minute he woke up in that pastel hospital room.

“I think it was the Ripper.” He laughs coldly. “Who else do we know who steals body parts?”

Hannibal’s face is blank. “What, other than the organ removal, makes you think it was the Ripper?”

Will puts down his drink and leans forward. “I can feel him. He’s there in the bite marks, in the sigil on my back.” He closes his eyes. “Frayed at the edges, like torn paper.”

“Why would the Ripper attack you?”

“I don’t know. As a warning, maybe. Perhaps I’m too close to him.” A look of concern passes over his face. “Or it’s an invitation— an open hand in the dark.”

Hannibal is silent for a moment. “Have you told Jack of your suspicions?”

“Hell no. He’d lock me up faster than you can say ‘Baltimore Hospital for the Criminally Insane’. He doesn’t like it when I make leaps I can’t explain or without evidence to back them up.”

Hannibal sits forward in his chair to match Will’s posture. Will puts his head in his hand, sighs. He feels a headache prickling behind his eyes.

“Was this supposed to turn into one of our conversations, Doctor Lecter?” he says weakly.

“I hadn’t planned it as such, no.”

Suddenly Will feels very, very tired and a little bit dizzy. The room is brighter than he remembered it, and Hannibal is looking at him silently. He blinks slowly, grabs the aspirin from the table next to him, and shakes a few pills into his palm.

Then Doctor Lecter is cupping his hand around Will’s and taking them from him.

“Ah ah, dear Will— it would not do well to have you mix prescription drugs with what I’ve put in your drink.”

Will, whose mind is very fuzzy now, blinks. “What did you put in my drink, Hannibal?” He thinks he should probably try to run away, but he feels so tired.

“Ketamine,” Hannibal answers smoothly as Will slumps. “Shall we go to my car?”

Will doesn’t answer. He’s not sure he can.

Hannibal half leads, half carries him to the Bentley waiting on the gravel driveway. It’s a brief struggle to get the seatbelt secured around his chest— Hannibal stretching over Will, brushing chests and arms in many places. The crunch of gravel beneath the tires gives Will pause.

“Where are you taking me?” he slurs.

“My home.”

“Why?”

“I wish to remind you of something, dear Will.”

Hannibal turns on the radio to the sound of Stravinsky’s _Rite of Spring_. It takes Will a very long time before he sinks into fitful sleep.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I love love love comments. Thank you, friends.


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